


Blind Dates and a Stradivarius

by Jollytr



Category: British Actor RPF, Richard Armitage - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Richard Armitage Fan Fiction, Richard Armitage RPF - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jollytr/pseuds/Jollytr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wanted to tell her happily-ever-after story but Richard had to put in his two cents worth.  It's a tale about two people who have it all, lose it and try to find it again.</p><p>This is, unabashedly, a fluffy little Richard Armitage Fan Fiction!</p><p>edited February 11, 2015</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Dates and a Stradivarius

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shieldmaidenofscotland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldmaidenofscotland/gifts).



_I wanted to tell you our story – a sweet, fluffy little story – but I made the mistake of asking Richard for clarification on something and whoosh the floodgates opened and waves of opinions and ‘facts’ came pouring out.  To make bad worse, I let him read what I had done and you’d think I’d just stabbed him and squeezed lemon juice in his mortal wounds.   He was quite adamant that he was cast as a villain but he should have been cast as the hero {insert eye roll here}.  So I had two choices:_

  1. _Scrap everything I’d done and start afresh knowing that we’d probably end up in World War III trying to meld our memories into one version; or_
  2. _Let Mr. But I’m a Hero insert his ‘facts’ {insert eyeroll # 2} into the story from time to time._



_To keep the peace, and because I didn’t want to scrap it, we went with Option 2._

 

**Me**

In the mid 1990’s I was set up on a blind date with Rich.  We hit it off right from the start and moved in together a few weeks later.  Time marched on, as it does, and the first million years were like a honeymoon.  But then he fooled around while he was on location.  He insisted he didn’t mean to, it was just a massage that went too far. 

We argued.  We fought.  Ire was raised.  Tempers flared.  We both said things we shouldn’t have.

I might have reacted differently if the revelation (which, in all fairness, was him being completely  honest) hadn’t happened when it did.   He’d been away for months and by June I missed him terribly.  And you  know what June is, don’t you?  Yes – Wedding Month.   I’d been to 3 weddings and 4 wedding showers and was uncharacteristically feeling left out.

We were married to each other in our hearts, but not by words, and as such, I’d never been bridezilla, or any nicer version of the blushing bride creature.   It hadn’t mattered a jot because our hearts and minds were perfectly committed to each other.   He never asked, I never suggested a wedding, all was well in our world.

Until the revelation.  I put one plus one together and got 547.   He wouldn’t marry me and he was unfaithful.  Clearly he didn’t love me and was just stringing me along (for more than a decade, and put the house in my name all as part of his nasty plan).   Now would be the right time to roll your eyes at me.  I needed my head examined.

Looking back I had every right to be upset about the infidelity but I was way out of line to emphatically declare that he was a lying, loser, user or get mad for not marrying me.

After 15 years together we broke up.

**Richard**

Well, her first 4 sentences are accurate, but it gets a bit hinky after that.   I still have no idea how it happened, and yes I do know how lame that sounds.   Almost as bad as “I didn’t mean to.  It meant nothing.”   But by the Lord Harry, it’s true.  All of those stupid clichés are true.

We’d been filming Strike Back in South Africa and it was rather gruelling.  I had been gone six months or so and was in the middle of some nasty fight scenes in a prison.  I was battered, bruised and in desperate need of a deep tissue massage.   Our usual therapist wasn’t available so we used the new person who was on call.   She seemed nice enough and did a great job on my shoulders.  She’d asked a few questions about my wife, which I prevaricated on because strangers have no business in our private life.  Maybe she thought I didn't have a wife, I couldn't really say.

I drifted off, enjoying the massage and thinking about home.  I can honestly say that the masseuse didn’t make me hard, dreaming of who and what was waiting at home for me did.   I woke up and the therapist’s mouth was exactly where it shouldn’t have been and I was in a bad way.   I should have stopped her, I think I could have at that point.  But I didn’t.  It doesn’t matter that I was only awake for about 30 seconds of it, I didn’t stop and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.  

It was a bad thing to do.  Really, really bad.  As horrid as I felt at the time, I was not prepared for how much more horrible I’d feel when the truth came out.  Occasionally I have wondered what would have happened if I hand't suffered the same lack of will to stop myself when it came to confessing.  But I confessed and, truthfully, no matter the cost, honesty was the only option. 

Let me back up.

Our whole relationship had been easy, comfortable and, dare I say convenient.  We clicked from the beginning and there had only ever been minor disagreements.   It had never felt like ‘work’ as so many people yammered on about.  I hadn’t really understood when other guys complained about their partner; I thought it was just bad luck for them.  I loved her and our life together.

I think that may have been why I was taken off guard when she got so furious about the therapy gone wrong. Bloody hell, I wasn't 'making love' and I would never have even thought about having an affair.  Contrary to the trick nature plays on blokes with wanting to put it about, I was monogamous, and bloody happily so.  But what really threw me arse over teakettle was getting blind-sided about marriage.   That was completely out of the blue!   We’d never talked about weddings and I’d never, ever seen her get bridey-broody.  I thought she loved our life the way it was as much as I did. 

Most of my mates were envious of our life because we had the best of everything.  Somehow, I'm reminded of Candide.  We lived in the best of all possible worlds and everything happens for a reason.  Yeah, sometimes the reason is that you're an idiot and made a bad decision.

Anyway, back to the issue at hand.  Both of us are even-keeled sorts of people, not the type who get into fights at all.  But as she said, we fought and fought badly and things went from bad to worse.   In the space of three hours we went from ‘together forever’ to ‘together for never’.

**Me**

Once the fight died down and we mutually agreed upon separating, we parted, as we’d lived together, without drama.   There were tears but no vitriol.  It was simply sad – excruciatingly sad.  Nearly all of my adult memories were made with him.   He was tightly woven into the fabric of my life and it wasn’t possible to separate all of him from all of me.   Some strands remained and I think that was a good thing.  We’d been together for over 15 years and 99% of it had been very happy.   That 1% that hadn't been happy killed us. 

Yeah.  Together for never.  He’d been out with a couple of women in the following year but, according to my sources, he wasn't interested in a relationship.  His mate Bill (who I got custody of in the ‘divorce’), confessed that no one sparked more than a third date.   I'm guessing that it still hadn't dawned on him what he’d had thrown away.  No doubt he assumed he’d easily find the perfect relationship when he was ready for it.  Not that I’d been keeping tabs or anything.  

I’d been out on a few dates too.  There were pretty slim pickings out there for a woman fast approaching middle age.  Friends tried to set me up on blind dates but I’d have none of that, thank you very much.  Look what happened the last time I tried that silly idea! 

**Richard**

We’d been each other’s best friends, coaches, cheerleaders, and critics (constructive of course).   That was the stuff I missed, I was missing my friend rather than missing ‘us’ at that point.   But I did a good job distracting myself, if you know what I mean.  I hadn’t met anyone who made me want anything more than a few dates, certainly not anyone I clicked with like I had with her.  Yeah, things were going along swimmingly until I moved to New Zealand.  I had bigger things on my mind than finding a new sweetheart.

I’d gotten in way over my head with Thorin and just knew Peter was going to send me packing as soon as he realized his mistake.  Who was I to think I could take on that monumental role? I’d done ensemble tv and, other than a bit part in Captain America, had no movie experience.  I’d been greedy and too full of myself to think I had a hope of pulling it off.  Of course I’d had self-doubts before but she was always there to walk it through with me, using an unvarnished evaluation of my skills to help me come to my own conclusions.  I loved the guys, they were great, but I was their leader and felt I shouldn't show fear.  There was only one person who I could talk to and it was killing me. It spoke to how low I’d sunk that I’d even consider dialing her number.  

**Me**

I never asked what he knew or didn’t know about the time between our break up and his call from Wellington.   I did wonder if he kept tabs on me as I did on him but there was no way I’d admit that to him.  All in all, it was a strange position to be in - I was the only person he could think of talking to about his predicament and yet he didn’t want to come to me, his ex, for anything.   

It must have taken tremendous humility and gumption to call and he would have been prepared for some splash-back.  He had to consider the possibility that I might not be very receptive to the guy who crushed my dreams of a happy life together.   The only titch of hesitation he would have been able to detect was a heavy sigh when I first heard his voice.  

**Richard**

She’s right - I was tremendously humble and brave.  I thought was prepared for anything but I wasn’t prepared at all.  I wasn’t ready for how easy it was to talk to her, the old patois as comfortable as ever.  A couple hours after the call, I was in much better shape and I knew who I had to thank for it.   I felt better and I felt worse all at the same time.  I really missed our friendship, making her laugh, talking with her about life, the universe and everything, the sympatico we shared.  I’d forgotten how well we got on together but the phone call brought it all rushing back.  It's not that I spent much time alone, but without the comfort of 'us' it felt sort of like being lonely.

At lunch the next day I smiled when I got her text asking for my address.  I guessed that she was going to send me one of her infamous care packages and just the thought of it was enough to lift my spirits.  She’d sent them to me regularly when I was on location, something I hadn’t noticed was a special privilege until Jonas had pointed it out in Hungary.  She put together unusual combinations of home, silliness, practicalities, and reminders of our life to keep me grounded when things got hectic in my head.

When I thought about it, I missed not having one of her traditional “welcome” packages when I arrived in NZ.   Needless to say, I was quite happy to anticipate one.   I could only imagine the package from home which would be jetting my way.  Hopefully she’d send some beans because I really missed beans on toast for breakie.

**Me**

He was such a creature of routine he was still hiding a spare key behind the front door light just as he always did when he was on location.  It was easy to let myself in and explore his rental house.   At one point I wondered what I’d find in his ‘bachelor pad’ and knew it would sting if there was evidence of romance.  I thought I might be relatively safe in that regard for two reasons: he was rather single minded when on location; and because his phone call was a good indicator that there was no one special in his life.  But it was still a possibility and it wouldn’t be pleasant if I witnessed the detritus of it first-hand.

Nothing to worry about.  No evidence that a woman ever crossed the thresh hold.   The whole house looked like he’d sounded on the phone - empty, no spirit, no comfort, no joy.  Stupid man.   He should’ve been having the time of his life and instead he was a lonely, overwhelmed shadow of himself.   I set about turning his house into more of a soft place to land after a rough day at work and made myself at home.

Two days after I texted him for his address  he certainly had not anticipated the aroma of his favourite dinner greeting him when he opened his front door.   Nor did he anticipate the woman sitting at the counter in his kitchen; he was completely discombobulated.   I snickered at his confusion and invited him to sit while I poured a glass of wine and prepared to serve dinner.  

His confusion was temporary; his relief and gratitude were not.  He flew to my side and pulled me off the stool into a massive bear hug, rocking and whispering ‘thank you’ for so long it made me laugh at the extremity of it.   It was awkward extricating myself from his embrace, but necessary because in our previous life such a hug had always ended with much snogging and a good romp.   Old habits were a dangerous thing and it was difficult remembering them.  Ending a hug without those intimacies was foreign and the awkwardness was decidedly unpleasant.  With a deep breath I returned to the cassoulet, cut up the french bread and took a long pull of the fragrant pinot noir.

Richard was Richard.  That is, he was the guy I knew, the guy I fell in love with, the guy I loved for 15 years and I’d probably always love.   We’re as different as night and day in so many respects, but not the essential ones.  Our core beliefs matched up well and where we were different, we tended to be complementary rather than diametrically opposed.  We fit together, perfect foils for each other.  I hate onions, he hates mushrooms.  We can’t eat Italian or Greek food without the other.  

He was the perfect host: thoughtful, funny, ensuring that I was comfortable for the whole five days.  He left me the keys to his car so that I could go exploring the Islands while he was working and told me all the great things I shouldn’t miss.   He happily listened to the babbling when I returned and told him of one amazing thing I’d seen after another, sometimes making notes on his iPhone of places he wanted to see too when he got some time.  

We went over the scenes he was having problems with and I asked him annoying, probing questions just like the old days.   He texted during breaks times and had take-away delivered for my dinner when he was going to be late.   It was him.  Just him.  That made it harder than I could have imagined.  It would have been easier, I think, to have arrived and seen him with some chippy or for him to have been distant or indifferent.  But no, the bugger had to be himself.  His intelligent, funny, thoughtful, sweet, considerate self.  Bastard.

It felt amazing to hang out again and, combined with knowing that we’d never agree on our ‘issues’, it made leaving all the worse.  It would have been so easy to get back together had it not been for those two little unresolved things.  But we wouldn’t agree on it and there was no going back.   It was like breaking up all over again only this time I knew full well the loneliness which awaited me back home and wouldn’t have anger to keep me company.   We both cried and held each other longer than we should have.   We promised to keep in touch and not be strangers.   All those promises exes and long lost friends say to each other but know they won’t keep.

I’d asked myself before - could I forgive the infidelity and the absence of marriage?  Were those things so significant that I was willing to throw love and a happy life out the window?   Yes.  Yes they were.  He parked his car in someone else’s garage and got pissed off because I couldn't accept the ‘I didn’t mean to’ excuse.  When push came to shove, he made it crystal clear that he would NEVER marry me.  It was frustrating for something that didn’t matter at all to become the most important thing of all.  It wasn’t a wedding I needed or wanted, it was the willingness to make a promise to me in front of God and each other; to be so sure and so proud to spend your days with someone that you would hang a certificate on your wall.  He didn’t want those things and I didn’t want to just play house with someone who didn’t want me enough to marry me.

The trip home was a blur.   For such a long flight you’d think I’d have become aware of the world around me at some point, but I didn’t.  So many years, so much life, so many memories we shared.  Our lives were inextricably linked and it was devastating for all of it to be in the past, with nothing for the present or the future except nostalgia and no small amount of regret.   I slept and/or wept for the entire journey back to London, numb when I disembarked at Heathrow.  Numb as I retrieved my car from long term parking.  Numb as I made my way home to an empty house.  Numb as I unpacked my suitcase with the tacky tourist souvenir he’d insisted I needed.  Numb as I poured a big glass of wine and slumped down on the couch.   Numb as I picked up the phone to check the messages.  Maybe not so numb when I saw the caller id of an over-seas number.

**Richard**

For the record, I did not cry.  It was allergies.

When I walked in the door and smelled the cassoulet, I knew.  I knew it was her and not a package I should have been waiting for.  I have never wanted anyone so much in my entire life.  I wanted to grab her and hold her and never let her go.  I did, I did grab her and held on tight.  I couldn't stop babbling 'thank you' but it was strange.  I could feel her, I could feel us.  And I could feel her pull away and put a glass of wine in my hand.  I understood ... sort of.  But it was bloody hard.

She wanted to be friends, so I was the best friend I could be, under the circumstances. I don’t really have a great deal to add about her visit.  It felt like part of me died when she left, but if I knew her, and I did, she was torn up too.   That was some kind of hope, wasn't it?  

But I didn't have time to think much about it.  I was abysmally busy with filming.  There were days on end that I wasn’t sure if I fell asleep or died.  If I heard an alarm clock and fell out of bed I took it as a sign that I hadn’t died yet.

Well, I guess I could tell you about what was happening at work.  It’s tangentially relevant, I think.

Filming some of the scenes was an excruciating endurance test.  I really felt bad for most of the other dwarves because it was hellish hard.  I have always tried to keep to a moderate level of fitness with running, yoga and the gym and _I_ was finding some days next to impossible.  For example, one day after a particularly gruelling battle scene I took a drink of water and my body was so over-taxed I immediately vomited.   And that’s after years of physical training!  Some of the dwarves were not athletic to start with and some were considerably older than me.  I did what I could to take care of them but it was really tough. 

We got to know each other very well during those dog days.  We looked out for each other, shared meals together, socialized together.  We developed our own meme: “What I miss about home is ____”.  After all of the “no fucking directors or AD’s who drive me to the brink of death”, the  answers things got personal.  I learned pretty much everything there was to know about their friends, homes, and families.  I was painfully aware that my family references were to the one I was born into rather than one in my own home.  I used to have my own family, a damn good one with her.  There were some days that I blamed her for not being my family meme.  I’m sorry Love, but it was true at the time.  We’re ok, right?  Anyway, the point is, I learned more about those donkeys and their families than I ever wanted to know and ... I felt pangs.  

In summary, hard work, bonding, maybe a little lonely.  Yeah, that’s about it.  Well, except she might have been on my mind a little.  Or a lot. 

**Me**

Not much to say?  Pffft.  Right! {another eye roll please}

Part of me would’ve loved to have said that things went back to normal when I got home.  I’d’ve loved to but I couldn’t.  Things were never, ever like the new situation I was facing and it scared the crap out of me.  Back in the day when Richard went off to a shoot, we’d have sporadic contact at best.   I knew what he was going through, the man tortured himself trying to get his character right.  He was taciturn and withdrawn more often than he was his normal warm, easy going self.   Heck, I’d had emergency gall bladder surgery when he was in Hungary and he didn’t stay in touch much after the second day.  The new Richard had changed so drastically I couldn’t catch my breath.

Every day held a surprise.  Every frickin’ day.   There was always a text waiting for me when I got up in the morning and usually another two or three during the day.  It was like the way things were when we lived together (and he was home).   Back then whenever something caught his attention he usually shared it with me first.  If something happened, whether good or worrisome, he’d track me down immediately; and I him.  He started acting like that old at-home Richard except old Richard had never been communicative from a distance.  

New Zealand was far away and he not only was being my old Richard, but he’d ramped it up considerably.   Every week, sometimes more than once a week, there was a package from Amazon or Waterstones or Harrods or some other shop with an online store.    He sent me cd’s of music he thought I’d like; books he knew were right up my melodramatic historical romance alley; a cd of music he’d like (and then he’d send a vine laughing at the thought of me listening to whatever atrocious noise he’d sent); my favourite Belgian chocolates; he wrote corny Thorin poems; tacky tourist souvenirs; more scenic photographs than he’d sent in 15 years combined; and on and on and on.  

I tried to steel myself against the emotions threatening to overwhelm me but when he started sending selfies my defences were swamped.   I resisted as long as possible but the onslaught was too much to handle.   I surrendered and started sending care packages and initiating texts & emails instead of only responding.  I mean seriously, what was I to do?

It was heaven and hell all in one go.   I missed him so much - I missed us.  I missed being the one he thought of first, the one he delighted in making laugh, making sigh, making moan.   I missed being able to rely on another human being with my heart and my body.  I missed the corny jokes, the bad impressions and the arms which could go from safe haven to devastatingly fabulous sexual weapons in the blink of an eye.   I missed that hollow at the base of his throat where I could feel his heart beat on my lips when I kissed it.  I missed the look on his face when he found a mushroom in his cacciatore.  I missed weekend dinners with the family.   I missed the way he looked at me as if we had a huge secret that no one else in the universe knew.   Dammit, I missed him more than I ever had.

He sent gorgeous photos from every location he saw and usually included an off-hand comment about taking me there next time I went for a visit.   He bought a cello and was playing again.  He recorded bits and bobs of my favourite pieces and created a password protected website to share them with me (the latter being a miracle on par with the loaves and fishes given the extent of his computer savvy).   

I was in love with him all over again; truly, madly, deeply, irrevocably in love with the bastard.  And he knew it, didn’t he?  There was no way he could sustain that kind of attention without full knowledge of what it would do to me, could he?   This had to be him trying to win me back by pulling out all the stops, wasn’t it?  The bastard was killing me softly.  

I had to break up with him again, which was hilarious because we weren’t together.  Heaven and hell, hell and heaven.  I had never been so conflicted in all my life.   My stomach was in knots every waking moment.  There was no relief in sleep because he haunted me there too.  I jumped at the sound of the doorbell, afraid there might be another delivery courtesy of his Royal Dwarfness.  I purposely let the battery die on my mobile so I could have an excuse for avoiding him.   My life became a complicated dance of avoiding him.

I had resolved to distance myself from him because no good would come of this ‘friendship’.   The things which bound us together would still be torn apart by our divergent ideas on marriage and what constituted infidelity.   It was worse this time around because of how good it felt to be part of each other’s lives and I knew what I’d be missing when we were cut off again.  It was worse than before because it was devastatingly, horribly, permanently impossible.   

He’d had a year away and several months of friendship, he knew what he was missing and yet he’d never reconsider his position on what happened and marriage.  I didn’t want to admit it but I had hoped that once he realized it wasn’t a bad thing to have some kind of a commitment ceremony, he’d be back.   I knew he loved me and he knew I loved him.  There was so much goodness just waiting for us.   But no.  It was not to be.  I was bleeding internally, bleeding from my heart and my soul.

I gradually cut back on the communications until I was only responding, not initiating  or sending care packages.   The next step would be to taper off replying to him.   If he noticed he didn’t let on which was convenient and yet a little disappointing.  How dense did he have to be to not notice?   Well, it made it easier on me, I guess.    But I was still bleeding from the open wound which used to be my heart.

**Richard**

 

Things were falling into place at work.  Peter was amazing and I was getting the hang of things to the point where I'd almost forgotten about my initial nerves.  I could have a bit of fun again, and I did.   I took in all New Zealand had to offer and found all sorts of places I'd love to take her to if she came back ... when she came back.  

She had always been so good to me with care packages, it seemed that turn-about was fair play.   I got the hang of online shopping very quickly {pats self on back} and the only real difficulty was curbing the impulse to buy too much.  I might have overdone things a bit.  Maybe a lot.  Okay, I really over did it, but could you blame me?!

I was quite proud of myself.  I could make that iPad sing.  Shopping; recording music; setting up a website; mini videos; selfies; you name it, I could do it.  And quite well, if I may say so myself.  I was probably at my best for those selfies and often wondered what she thought when she saw them.  I was quite fit for Thorin and had a beard for the first time in ages- which I knew she loved from my RSC days.  I wondered where her imagination went when she saw her old beau looking his best.

An unexpected bonus was music.  I hadn't really intended on playing again, there was no need and really not enough time.  But in pursuit of new and unusual things to send to her, I decided to give it a bit of a go ... she always loved when I played.   It turned out to be such a bonus ... the cello was wonderfully therapeutic and it was great fun making all those sounds like wounded cats.

I brought my A game and it scared the shit out of her.  Guess I over did it a bit.   But I wasn’t giving up, no bloody way. 

I just had to wait until the break in our shooting schedule and then I’d move on to Plan B.

**Me**

So yeah, best laid plans of mice and men … and women trying to heal their broken hearts.  I was all set to reduce contact further and BAM.  BAM to the frickin stars.

He showed up at my door being incredibly adorable with take-away fish and chips and a smile more beautiful than all the chocolate, northern lights, puppies, kittens and tropical island sunsets in the world.

And the fish and chips were from Frasers.  Dammit.  Frasers was where we met for our blind date.  And it was where we went for every anniversary of the same.

I have a great memory and am pretty sure this is what happened that afternoon:

 

"Hey you, fancy some fish and chips?"  There was that smile.  That panty melting, heart constricting smile.   

"Um, sure?  So what’s the delivery fee on chips from Wellington?"  I couldn’t feel my fingers or toes.

"For you, no charge.  Plates or straight from the bag?"  He was no doubt laughing at the ridiculous look on my face.  "Straight from the bag, then."

"You’re in London."  I mumbled through numb lips.

"Yeah, I noticed that too.  We should eat before it goes soggy - you hate soggy chips."  He was smirking.  Bastard.  

He had ESP when it came to knowing when he had me flustered and he always used it to maximum advantage.  Not this time, I promised myself.  Not this frickin time.  I was a bloody grown woman and no matter what he was not going to turn my life upside down again.

"Sit, eat."  He patted the couch next to him as he spread out the greasy feast in front of us.

I sat in a chair as far from him as possible.  I wasn’t falling for that schtick.  Sit beside him, indeed.  I’d wager that every single upset I’d ever had ended up with some version of his patting the couch beside him and me sitting down, falling into him, falling onto him.  Feeling his strong arms wrap around me, strengthening me, empowering me, sheltering me, loving me.  Oh those arms - to be in those arms again would be divine.  Just for a moment wouldn’t hurt, would it?   YES, it bloody well would hurt.  That was where folly would take the leap into full blown madness.

**Richard**

I have to jump in here.  Frasers fish and chips was genius, don't you think? We had so many great memories there.  It would be impossible for her not to remember.

It was a long flight back to England from Wellington, and I planned to wait until the following day so that I could have a bit of a kip and look my best.  But I couldn't wait.  I'd waited long enough, dammit.  I stopped off at my mate's house, took a shower and popped over to Frasers.  

She'd been avoiding me but it wasn't because of anger or dislike - she was freaking out a bit.  She still had feelings for me, of that I had no doubt.  I was certain that if I didn't scare her off, we'd be able to work things out.  I knew some things she didn't know at that point.  I had a bit of an unfair advantage, you might say.  But I was still more nervous than on my very first date.  

She was so adorable it took everything in my power not to scoop her up and snog her face off.  She’d never have made a decent actress because she couldn’t master her expressions for all the tea in China.  And, not to brag, but I was pitch perfect!  She was still head over heels in love with me and I was a genius!

**Me**

He sat there grinning.  Oh, sure he kept up a light conversation, telling me stories of New Zealand, his cast mates, the film, how much he’d been looking forward to the break so that he could come home.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, it was the nice to be home.  Blah, blah, blah.   I wanted to scream.  _Stop it Rich, just fucking stop it.  You know me better than anyone on the planet - why can’t you see that I’m in agony over here?  Why can’t you tell that you’re killing me?_

"Eat. Eat.  You’re looking a little peaked. You need a drink?  I’ll get you a drink.  You have any wine?  Of course you do, I’ll get us some wine."  He walked out of the lounge and kept talking to himself all the way into the kitchen.   I absentmindedly started munching on the chips and squeezed a wedge of lemon on the fish.  He always winced when I did that, he preferred tartar sauce and didn’t understand my penchant for sour on my fish and chips.    

I heard him chuckle when he found the corkscrew, puzzled why it would be funny.   The little clinking sound he made as he held two wine glasses upside down, stem crossing stem, in one hand was so familiar.   At least once a week we’d have a glass of wine in the lounge and just ‘be’ together: reading; chatting; watching a vid; … it didn’t matter as long as we did it together.   I hadn’t heard that distinctive tinkling sound in a year and a half and I missed it desperately.

"You set up your kitchen exactly like ours.  I knew where to find glasses, wine and corkscrew.  You’re a creature of habit, m’love."  He chuckled and booped my nose.  He had a bloody nerve!  Rooting around, uninvited, in a woman’s kitchen was bloody cheeky.   Booping my nose was heinous.   Despicable. Unforgivable. 

"All of us were happy for the break, Martin, Graham and James especially.  They were so desperate to come home.  Even though they’d all had their families down for a visit, they were beside themselves with missing them.   They love their families so much, it was quite something to see.  You gonna eat all your chips?  Can I have some?  There isn’t any lemon on them is there?  Can’t stand lemon on fish and chips.  So Martin and Amanda have invited us over for dinner this week.  What day would be good for you?"  He sounded as casual as if he’d just asked if I’d like pudding with my dinner.   

I swear to all that’s holy, the corners of his mouth were twitching.  Bastard.

"Yeah, it is a wonderful cast and crew to work with.  The best.   There is such great care for each other, everyone is so supportive.  I’ve gotten to know these people better than anyone I’ve ever worked with.  And we still have another year of shooting to go!  Can you imagine?  We are like a family now, what’s it going to be like when we have to say goodbye next year?  Brutal.   Pete and Fran have been amazing - they are amazing.  They have the most incredible relationship - totally in synch with each other and devoted to their family.  Well, they’re not unique though, Martin, James and Graham have the same thing.  It’s a very family friendly bunch.   I’m having Mum, Dad, Chris and Alex down in the new year.  Can’t wait.   I’m quite lucky to have so many good, loving relationships around me - it’s a touchstone in difficult times.  It gives me hope."  He said the last part with quiet emphasis and looked at me from under his lashes.

I couldn’t breathe.  What the hell was he playing at?  How very mean and unfair of him.   After everything we’d been through he could sit there and tell me about blah, blah, blah happy marriages blah, blah, blah, gives me hope, blah, blah, blah.   The blood drained from my face but I couldn’t testify as to whether it was from heartbreak or anger.  Probably both.  

"What do you hope for, hmmm?"  He asked softly.

The dam broke.  Indignation and fury flooded the room.  I yelled at him, something I’d never done in our entire time together.  ”I HOPE YOU’LL GET YOUR SACCHARIN SWEET ASS OUT OF MY HOUSE AND OUT OF MY FUCKING LIFE.  GET OUT OF HERE RICH.  GET OUT AND DON’T FUCKING COME BACK.”

Arsehole.  He didn’t move.  He just sat there watching me, waiting and watching me. Clearly I was entirely too subtle.  ”WHAT PART OF GET OUT DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? DID YOU LEAVE YOUR EARS AND YOUR BRAINS IN NEW ZEALAND?  WHY AREN’T YOU LEAVING?"  I'm pretty sure I stomped my foot, intending it to be for emphasis, but I might have looked like a child pitching a fit. "RICHARD WHY AREN’T YOU LEAVING?”

He stood and came over to me, holding his hands out just like he used to.  Without thinking I put my hands in his for him to pull me up out of my chair.   When I realized how naturally that stupid habit resurrected itself I pulled my hands back and slapped his arm, hard.   _Oh Shit!_   I’d never struck a person in my life and was appalled that I would do such a thing.  My hand flew to my mouth and I swear my eyes nearly bugged out of my head.  

He still stood there, as solid and as real as could be.   He just bloody stood there, quietly and calmly.   That was worse than if he’d gotten angry.  His silence and patience unglued me completely.   That’s when the tears started.   And did they have a go!   It’s a wonder I didn’t need an IV to prevent death by dehydration.  

He pulled me into his arms and gently pressed my head against his chest, stroking my hair and making low susurrations in my ear.   I am NOT a cry baby.  I do NOT have temper tantrums or fits of hysteria.    Except then, and it was worse than the day I moved out.   The pain, fear and frustration were kicking the crap out of my heart.  And he just stood there, holding me, comforting me, encouraging me. 

He just stood there.  Strong.  Immovable.  Solid.  

My tears subsided and he just stood there, holding me.  Closely.  Tenderly.  Naturally.

**Richard**

Side note: There was no way to describe how good it felt to have her in my arms again.  I thought I’d died and gone to heaven but the soggy mess on my shirt was a clue that I hadn’t died.  Yet.

**Me**

Of everything, I think that was the worst.  To feel what it was like to love and be loved by him, to slip back into the rightness of us together.  That was the worst pain of all - to feel it and to know it would be gone as soon as we opened our mouths.    Nothing had changed and that was the truth of it.  

An emotional outburst was not going to get us anywhere.  It was high time to pull up my big girl panties and be the adult.  We weren't kids playing house.

"Thank you for that, but Richard, you really must leave.  We can’t do this.  Nothing has changed.  We can’t go back.  Nothing has changed for us."  I pleaded with him to concede gracefully, admitting that whatever game he was playing at was lost.

**Richard**

Oh I remember this part quite well.  I rehearsed it for days to make sure I'd get it just right.  

"But everything necessary has changed."  I sighed and took her by the hand to the couch, sitting and gently tugging her down beside me.  

"I asked Martin about his life with Amanda and he told me something quite interesting.   He would never be with anyone else - and he did have offers.  He’s been in the international spotlight for over 10 years and he has lots of groupies, but that’s another story.  He said, ‘why would I play with a plastic dollar store toy when I have a Stradivarius at home?’  And you know something, Peter, James and Graham all have similar opinions of their wives.   Commitment and total fidelity all the way.  They were surprised that I didn’t have a clue.  But I didn’t.  Not until then, and when that simple wisdom finally sunk in I understood exactly what you’d been telling me and why it was so important to you.  And why it should have been so important to me.  You are my Stradivarius.   And I know I don’t deserve it … but then I probably didn’t deserve you in the first place, so hopefully worthiness isn’t the deciding factor.  I know that we still love each other.  The question is, can you take another chance with me?  Can you consider being my love, my only lover?  Can you see us together, talking about forever?  Can you take the wisdom from our past to create a better future?" 

I held my breath waiting for her to answer. 

**Meg**

I had no idea what to say.  What words do you say to a man who has laid himself bare before you like he just did?  How do you cope with an about face on something which had torn your life asunder?   Well, I’ll tell you what you do.  When you are offered to spend the rest of your life with the man that ‘gets you’ and that loves you without limit and without hesitation - and he is the same man that you have loved with all your heart for over fifteen years - well, you make your answer quite plain.

I scootched over to straddle his lap and cradle his face in my hands.   I barely had time to smile before he seized me tightly and bruised my lips with a searing kiss.   When we came up for air, I laughed and said, “Maybe.”

 

**Richard**

I will neither confirm nor deny that I cried.  For joy.

I got my Stradivarius back for good.


End file.
